


remember to breathe.

by ShallNeverSurrender



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: 90'S, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1352563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShallNeverSurrender/pseuds/ShallNeverSurrender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needed to stop calling Thomas.</p>
<p>He needed to stop making excuses to see him.</p>
<p>He needed to realise that they weren’t able to hang out anymore.</p>
<p>He needed to…</p>
            </blockquote>





	remember to breathe.

He needed to stop calling Thomas.

He needed to stop making excuses to see him.

He needed to realise that they weren’t able to hang out anymore.

He needed to…

Guillaume stared down at the phone in his hand, the buttons outlined and bumpy underneath his fingers. On the small, colourless screen it read “Thomas” in a–what they called-robotic font. It was so easy to call the number; he just needed to press the green button and the phone dialed. Guillaume brought the phone to his ear and listened intently to the beeps on the other end. In the beginning, he had done it out of habit, now he did it just to hear Thomas' voice. After a while, he reached voicemail and pondered for a moment if he should talk or not. 

He had already left over a hundred voicemails. Most of them had been during the night when he couldn’t sleep, when he looked up at his ceiling and blamed himself. Why hadn’t he seen the truck? Why hadn’t he reacted? Why hadn’t he stopped Thomas from taking ecstasy that day? Why, Guillaume, why?

“Hi," he spoke quietly into his phone after a few seconds of silence, “I went to your place today. You weren’t there, of course, I know that. I just… I could’ve sworn I heard you when I sat in the hallway. I promise, I only sat there for a while, don’t worry.” 

He stopped for a moment to take a wheezing breath; his throat burned and his eyes felt bleary. He, who usually tended to be so quiet, felt like words were just spilling from his lips when making these calls to Thomas. He kept telling himself it was all right, that Thomas would call him in the evening like nothing had ever happened, like it had been a bad dream. Wishful thinking.

“I spoke to your neighbour, that old lady you know, fuck, I hate her. She told me to stop loitering. Can you believe that Thomas? I flipped her off,” Guillaume laughed in a sad hushed tone, “and then I walked away. I got so angry. I miss you so. Please come back, Thomas." 

His head pounded and he felt dizzy. Once again it dawned on him – Thomas was no more. The truck had hit Thomas he had died instantly and Guillaume had failed to save him. He had failed his best friend.

“I got you some nice flowers by the way," he breathed when he had calmed down just a bit, “I’ll walk by your place later and give them to you, okay? I hope your-“ he was cut off by the phone alerting him that the message was done. Fuck, he really hated when he was cut off mid sentence. Guillaume pressed the end button on his phone, pondered whether he should call Thomas again, or leave it. 

He left it. 

He put his phone down, that heavy and bulky thing, and got up from his bed. He felt like hell, he probably looked like hell too, not like he cared anyway – he was going to visit Thomas again. 

Guillaume picked up his keys, put on a hoodie, grabbed his phone and took the flowers. They were still all wrapped up, a ribbon tying the stems together with a small card attached to it neatly. He had scribbled something on it, but he honestly couldn’t remember what it was.

The walk to Thomas’ place had been quick and short, he let himself into the apartment and the first thing he did was slide down the door and sit still for god knew how long. If he tried hard enough, he could almost visualise Thomas walking around the small apartment, could almost hear him talk about everything and nothing. A small smile, albeit slightly distorted, found its way to Guillaume’s lips. He clenched the flower stems in his hand and formed the other to a fist. Why couldn’t Thomas see that he was sad? Why couldn’t anyone see that he was sad? 

“Thomas," he called out with a slightly raspy voice, raw from crying and talking too much. He tried to wipe some tears away from his eyes, and for a second he could’ve sworn the imagined Thomas turned around to face him. Guillaume picked himself off the floor, flowers still clutched in his hands. The apartment still felt like Thomas. It still smelled like Thomas, and when he took a sharp turn into the kitchen it felt like Thomas was there, following him around like he always did. He bit back a loud sob and opened cupboard after cupboard before finding a vase fit for his flowers. He unwrapped the flowers and carefully arranged in the vase before showering them with water and setting them on the counter.

Guillaume walked out of the kitchen and went directly to Thomas' bedroom. Mr. Bangalter had said that the apartment would be cleared on Friday, which meant Guillaume had a few days to spend here. Still had a few days to be close to Thomas before he went away for good, and the only place left to visit was a grave. He hoped Friday never came.

“Thomas… I’m sorry,” he cried lowly, his chest aching with every breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated to the empty room as he stripped off his hoodie and shirt. He needed to wear something that belonged to Thomas, at least then it felt like he was still there, close as ever. He picked up a shirt hanging from a wooden chair and tugged it on, bit back yet another sob as he looked down on the green shirt. 

The sleeves were too long, but he didn’t care, not now, not when everything just felt all right. His pants fell to the floor as well, and after a few seconds he lay down on the bed. It was comfortable and felt slightly surreal. Guillaume inhaled deeply, and for a second the tears stopped falling from his eyes. If he were to die now, at least then he’d die where he wanted. He would’ve been happy. He hugged the pillow next to him hard and squeezed his eyes shut and succumbing to sleep. 

He wished he had died instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thank you for reading. This is my first work of fiction for this fandom and this ship, so please be gentle with me. It's beta'd by Barracutie on tumblr, but if there's anything that's bothering you - don't hesitate to contact me.


End file.
